


Pull my mask so tight, Til it pinches my skin

by elithewho



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elithewho/pseuds/elithewho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lizzie and Darcy have sex, but it isn't all hearts and roses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pull my mask so tight, Til it pinches my skin

Dream of maybe waking up someday,  
And wanting you less than I do.  
This is a dream though,  
It's never gonna come true.

     - _Night Light,_ The Mountain Goats

 

 

Lizzie hadn’t really thought about Darcy in bed before it happened, but she would never have expected it to be like this. She would have expected him to be stiff and mannered and awkward, like he was everywhere else. Maybe it was just her. Maybe is was their pent up feelings, his of wanting and her of resentment.

They are in his office. It’s late and no one else is there. He’s staring at her with his jaw tight and a muscle twitching in his neck Lizzie wants to destroy him. She actually wants to rip him apart. She pulls his hair and musses his perfectly combed curls. She sinks her teeth in his neck, she scratches him, bites his lip. She’s never been this violent with anyone, let alone someone she’s having sex with, and it scares her a little.

But then again, he seems to like it. He groans and gasps and when his big hands wrap around her rips and she feels his fingers press into her skin, like he can’t bear to let her go, she wants him to leave bruises.

She thinks about _The Rape of Persephone_ by Bernini. He had sculpted from cold marble the hands of Hades digging into Persephone’s thigh, her flesh being molded, like clay, sinking under his grip. It’s violent and uncomfortable, but amazing that anyone could render flesh in stone so viscerally.

When she touches him, she sees Jane’s face crumpled in pain. And she hates him. But his hands slip under her dress and skim her inner thigh, his thumb touching the edge of her panties so lightly. She pulls the knot of his tie away from his throat and she likes him vulnerable like this, his neck exposed to her, his Adam’s apple tightening and he says _“Lizzie, Lizzie.”_ in such a strained, helpless whisper that she kisses his throat. She hears the groan in his vocal chords and she bares her teeth, scrapes the skin where his stubble is just coming in and sucks brutally on his pulse point.

All while she tortures him, pulling his groans out like an interrogator extracts secrets, his fingers are in her panties. She’s so wet already that he sinks right in, two fingers, his thumb on her clit, and his wrist is bent at a weird angle and it’s not stopping him. He’s not awkward or clumsy with this, apparently, and she can’t stop to think about what that means.

She straightens her back and rips at the neck of his shirt. His nice, dark grey, perfectly pressed dress shirt that must have cost more than what’s in her bank account. The buttons pop off and she lets her hands wander. His sparse chest hair scrapes her palms and he is kissing her neck. He doesn’t bite her and she wants to tell him to. To demand it, to grab his hair and force his teeth into her skin. His thumb circles her clit.

He opens his mouth and strokes her neck with his tongue. She bites his ear, harder than she intended. He groans and she feels his teeth against her skin, just the barest tease. Her orgasm is sudden, like she had fought against it. Everything goes away for a moment, her hate and her violence, and there’s just his fingers inside her.

She feels him wrap his other hand around her back, cradling her and he looks at her with such reverence and adoration and she wants to smash his face in. It’s too much to handle, impossible to process that he cares for her so much and she hates him, but his hands feel so good. She can’t stand looking at him anymore.

“Lizzie…” he mumbles, and his voice is choked. She hates the way it sounds.

She hates that he made her come. It’s so personal, so intimate. She had been so determined to destroy him. She slides off his lap onto the floor and he goes to stand up, as if to follow her. She presses his thighs back onto the couch and slides her body between his legs.

He opens his mouth to say something, probably her name again.

“Shut up. Don’t talk.”

He complies. His hands cradle her head like it’s a porcelain figure. His thumb touches her throat and she imagines him pressing down.

Her hands trail up his thighs and brush over his erection. She can feel him straining, fighting to keep control. His hands clench to his sides and his head falls back as if looking at her is too much. It’s as if he can’t fight any longer and is giving up, surrendering himself to her wishes. It feels glorious and horrible at the same time.

She’s still wobbly from her orgasm and fumbles with his belt. She wrestles the button of his trousers undone and feels the zipper cut into her skin as she slips her hand in. His hot, hard skin feels so good as she rubs him through his boxers. Plain, cotton boxers that certainly didn’t cost 5000$. She’s looking at his face, the way it contorts when she touches him.

She pulls his cock out and momentarily panics. It’s not like she hasn’t done this before, but she was always nervous about being terrible at it, of biting by accident and making it an awful experience. Right now, she convinces herself not to care. She grips his cock in one hand and sucks the head, harder than she might have in the past. His groan is all the answer she needs and his hips jerk upward, unable to stop himself.

She loves reducing him to this. She sucks in more and makes sure to scrape her teeth against his skin. If he hates it, she doesn’t care. She tastes his precum on her tongue and it nearly makes her gag. But she can’t give up the opportunity of having him so completely at her mercy. She bobs her head and swirls her tongue over the head, feeling him squirm beneath her. His hips move again and she holds him down with one hand, pressing her thumb into his hip bone. She wants to leave marks on him.

She’s rough and uneven with her mouth, squeezing him tight in her hand and he makes noises like he’s in pain, but when his hand grabs her head again, he’s holding her in place, urging her on. She feels him tremble, his fingertips rough on the back on her neck and she lets go, pulls her mouth away and leaves him there straining. His eyes go wide and he stares at her, his mouth falling open.

She stares right in his eyes as she takes off her panties. She rolls up her skirt and climbs on his lap again, her knees framing his hips. He looks close to terrified and his hands tremble slightly as they cradle her ribs. She grips his cock again and he takes in a rattling, shaky breath.

He looks like he wants to say something but she doesn’t want to hear it. She just wants to fuck him and hate him and have it be that simple. It had become so easy to overlook how handsome he is, but as she sinks onto his cock and his mouth opens, his groan needy and high, his eyes squeezed tight, she is very aware of how good-looking he really is.

And how good he feels. She can’t deny that. He feels amazing inside her and she fights back a moan. She rides him slowly, not wanting it to be over too soon. His eyes are still closed and she runs a hand over his face, tracing his mouth with her thumb. It’s such a gentle gesture, she hates herself for doing it and how he leans into her touch.

She buries her face in his neck so she won’t have to look at him. She grabs a fistful of hair and pulls his head to the side, biting and sucking his neck. His hands find their way under her shirt and inside her strapless bra. He pulls it down over her ribs and cups her breasts. She tries not to react, she tries not to shudder, but he teases her nipples and thrusts inside her. They are pressed so close together that every movement makes her clit throb.

She slides her hand under his shirt and her nail scrapes his nipple, as if in retaliation. He grunts and squeezes her breast, almost painfully. He’s been so gentle and she wants more. She pinches his nipple and pulls, laying her nail against the base.

He mumbles, “Fuck…” and it’s barely a whisper, but it’s so out of character, so clearly a sign of lost control. She rolls her hips, rubbing herself against him and she arches her back, thrusting her breasts further into his touch.

He grabs her hips and thrusts back in earnest. He’s too far gone for gentleness and she loves how he bares his teeth and drives into her roughly. She can feel her body tightening and when she comes, it’s so intense that it almost feels like pain. She’s aware enough to watch him writhe and groan, his face contorted in agony, crushing his body against hers.

When it’s over, Lizzie doesn’t know what to do. Darcy slides out of her with a grunt and they just lay there, her arms curled up against his chest as he holds her on his lap.

Lizzie knows that she should say something. It feels impossible to form words. She can feel Darcy’s heart beating wildly. Somehow, that’s the worst part.


End file.
